


Victorian Expression

by thejohnlockconfirmation (NonyaSoum)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Screenplay/Script Format, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonyaSoum/pseuds/thejohnlockconfirmation
Summary: Sherlock has recently returned from the dead, and John is still upset. Sherlock is initially fed up with apologising, but that quickly changes into something else entirely. He endeavours to explain the true circumstances of his lengthy absence, and in doing so, inevitably makes a confession he’s been suppressing for far longer than his decade-long hiatus.





	

_Scene: A quiet winter evening at 221b Baker Street. Perhaps a month after HOLMES’ return from the dead. HOLMES and WATSON's armchairs face each other across a lit fireplace; a frosted window on another wall. WATSON in his armchair, HOLMES pacing. The air is tense with unresolved grievances. Though both sides are making a valiant attempt at normalcy, this clearly isn't the 221b of 1889. Watson deliberates his next move, awkwardly adjusting himself in what was once a very familiar spot._

 

HOLMES: _(Muttering to himself.)_ If the turbidity of the lake were reduced to undisturbed levels, then perhaps- no-

WATSON: _(Finally deciding to speak.)_ Holmes, it's hopeless.

HOLMES: No quandary is without remedy.

WATSON: _(Exasperated.)_ I wasn't speaking of the case.

HOLMES: What then?

WATSON: You failed to satisfy my query. You know the one.

HOLMES: Well? Pray do tell.

WATSON: Why?

HOLMES: Why what?

WATSON: _(Sighs.)_ You relayed to me an elaborate tale of dazzling proportions regarding your evasion of the late Professor Moriarty. If I recall correctly, it involved a truly sensational use of baritsu and a rather improbable climb along a sheer cliff face. I'm a writer, Holmes. And I'm not as imbecilic as you believe. I know when plot intricacies conceal underlying motives. You were so pliant as to reveal your method of escape; now for God's sake Holmes, tell me why you feigned a decade of death without so much as a whisper to your-

HOLMES: My what?

WATSON: One word. That's all it would have taken.

HOLMES: I couldn't have.

WATSON: You're bloody Sherlock Holmes, yes you could! Have you any idea what-? _(Trails off into wordless frustration.)_

HOLMES: I'm sorry. Again.  
Suffice it to say my litany of apologies is not projected to  
Conclude anytime in the foreseeable future.  
Will your undying thirst for closure  
Ever be satiated? Will you stop to consider my perspective  
As you ceaselessly toil in constructing  
An image for public consumption without consulting  
The only consulting detective who can provide an accurate analysis?  
Through their eyes- no- your eyes- I am ever calculating.  
Ever thinking. Never feeling. Never a human being.  
Except I am and  
I truly am sorry.  
Ten years is far too long a condemnation to searing agony.  
I left you at that waterfall for you to find what you believed  
Were the remnants of my body. For that I cannot ever repent in full;  
Yet alas, I urge you to listen to my appeal.  
I’ve injured you beyond the war, but you’ve hurt me  
In equal measure: unintentionally, yet devastating.  
They say that to me, rationale is paramount.  
By this reasoning, then without a doubt  
You’ve wrecked my entire worldview. For long has it been  
Since emotion could be banished from my breast.  
For years, the singular feature of interest-  
Out of reach in tranquil domestic matrimony- has been  
My Doctor Watson.  
If my words in The Strand hold true- that inclination  
Towards remorse and romance is a defect, too-  
Then I suppose I'm on the losing side.  
But those are your words, not mine.  
I feigned to leap that cliff off Reichenbach to protect you  
From the Professor’s post-mortem folly. I neglected to inform you  
For fear that I’d endanger the one man for whom I do care.  
In this I erred for in my zeal to ensure your physical safety, I failed  
To account for the immense extent of your own grief.  
I am imperfect. I am not a machine.  
I am not the mind devoid of heart that you write me to be.  
I live and I breathe and sometimes sentiment  
Clouds my judgement. Sometimes there is a fly in the ointment,  
Yet that lapse of logic isn't always despised for  
Sometimes it's worth the compromise.  
Without exception does this hold true:  
What I do from the heart, my dear Watson,  
I do for you.

( _The aftermath of a considerable outburst. HOLMES gazing intently into WATSON's eyes, WATSON dumbstruck. HOLMES suddenly breaks his stare, turning away and crossing the room to observe the bustle of London below. His face remains impassive, yet apprehension simmers just beneath the surface. After a long beat, WATSON finally speaks.)_

WATSON: Holmes, I- I didn’t know. I thought-

HOLMES: _(Determinedly looking out the window.)_ I know what you thought.

WATSON: _(Hesitant, yet intent upon his goal.)_ No. Listen- Just listen for once. _(Beat.)_ I assumed you knew. That I well- as you're so fond of pointing out- embellish my stories. And- _(Voice grows stronger and less tremulous, a hint of their usual lighthearted sparring entering his voice, but words themselves are beyond sincere.)_ don't you think for one second that I believe any of that rubbish I write about you.

HOLMES: _(Subdued fondness lacing half-hearted sarcasm.)_ How remarkably pleasant.

WATSON: I'm sorry. _(Something in Holmes' face twitches in involuntary acceptance; he'd like to reject the need for apology, but his subconscious needed to hear it aloud.)_ I know you have feelings, Sherlock. _(Softer.)_ I just never know what they are. Or for whom. I thought- I'd hoped.  But I never knew.

HOLMES: _(At last turning to face Watson.)_ I'd have presumed it obvious.

WATSON: Well it's not obvious to me. _(Beat, Holmes arches an eyebrow. Watson continues, unperturbed and genuine.)_ It never is.

HOLMES: _(Approaches Watson, pauses right before him, close enough to hear each other's quickened breaths. With piercing intensity.)_ Is it now?

WATSON: _(Some semblance of self-assurance regained, teasing.)_ Well. _(Suppressing a grin of both nerves and anticipation.)_ Maybe. _(An understatement.)_

HOLMES: Perhaps you'd like me to render it more so?

WATSON: By all means.

HOLMES: John.

WATSON: Yes? _(Holmes unresponsive, immersed in indecision. Watson's tone takes on a more tender note.)_ Sherlock?

HOLMES: _(Hesitates, then abruptly.)_ Will you please kiss me?

WATSON: Oh god yes. ( _They embrace as lights dim. After a few moments, lights come up again._ )

WATSON: You know, I always reckoned we'd get to this before now. Then again, we are two emotionally constipated idiots, aren't we?

HOLMES: Of course. Lethally sentimental lot, we are.

WATSON: _(Amused.)_ Are you even listening to what I'm saying?

HOLMES: I catalogue every word you utter with utmost diligence. Since the beginning. Since  "How on earth did you know that?" You know, John, for someone who hero-worships me to a fault you really do underestimate my abilities at the most inopportune moments.

WATSON:  I'll endeavour not to do so again. ( _Lights fade._ )

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [thejohnlockconfirmation](thejohnlockconfirmation.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Sherlock's monologue is featured in the [johnlockfanzine](https://johnlockfanzine.tumblr.com)!


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